“If we stand by to help them off the island in case disaster threatens, it will be, I think, a great service. But will it pay? What shall we do? It’s your boat. You must decide.”
The answer came by return mail. “Stand by to serve,” her grandfather wrote.
“An opportunity to serve where service is appreciated is a gift of God.
“Just now something is happening to you and, if I read your letter correctly, you are taking it just as it should be taken. And that is all that matters. Might I add that life need never be a bitter struggle. It may always be a glorious adventure!”
There his letter ended.
Florence read it, her heart swelling, “Good old granddaddy,” she murmured. “I only hope we may yet find a way out.” She was thinking now of money.
The very next day, just as darkness was falling, the Wanderer and her gallant crew found themselves once more in a precarious situation on Isle Royale. They were at Chippewa Harbor. Here a brave little fishing family had taken its stand against all sorts of adversity and had won. Their neat home, their stout little dock, and three tiny tourist cabins showed all this. Of all the people on the island, the Carlsons of Chippewa Harbor had interested Florence most. Perhaps this was because, unlike other fisher-folk of the island, they did not leave when winter’s ice threatened to close their harbor. Instead, they ordered many sacks of flour, sugar and potatoes. To these were added hams and slabs of bacon, cases of milk, fruit and vegetables and all else that might be needed.
Then, with bleak winter winds blowing, they settled down to six months of isolation. During all that time, boats neither came nor went. They were there alone. Isle Royale was their home.
Working like beavers, they cut logs for tourist cabins, mended their nets and made all needed preparations for a successful season.
Besides the fisherman and his wife there were Ve and Vi, as they called themselves, girls of Florence’s own age, and some younger brothers—a happy family.
Chippewa Harbor, too, was a spot that had made many a heart beat faster. A break in the Island’s rocky wall, it stretched back through a narrow channel to a broader bay, where giant spruce trees towered above massive palisades. Here, in the still hour of evening, one might rest on his oars to watch the sun go down over the dark green treetops and dream, transported to another world.